


the future ain't what it used to be

by elegantstupidity



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: BREAKING: Mike Lawson, catcher for the San Diego Padres, has been involved in multi-car collision...is all Ginny reads before she's out the door, heart caught in her throat.





	the future ain't what it used to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mustlovemustypages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustlovemustypages/gifts).



At this point in time, there are a few things that Ginny knows about herself. 

One: She is not having a panic attack. True, one doesn’t feel far off, is circling ever closer with every minute that passes, actually, but it's not here yet.. It’s tingling at the edges of her fingers, heating up her face and chest, but she can still breathe, even if it's mostly in short, shallow pants. She can still hear and see as clearly as usual. It doesn’t feel like she’s been swaddled in stinging cotton. For now, her mind is hers. 

Two: Even if she's not actually panicking right now, she still probably shouldn't be driving.  Her mind's on the road, hasn't been on anything _but_ the road since before she got in the car. Just not for the reasons it should be and not really even the road she's on. She's running on autopilot, fingers cramping around the steering wheel she's clutching it so hard. 

Three: She should really stop. Pull over and wait out the anxiety she's sure is coming. Ginny knows this, hears it looping endlessly through the same, distant part of her brain that knows there's nothing she can actually _do_ once she reaches her destination, but—

Four: She's not going to. 

Anyway, there are only a few blocks left between her and her goal. She can hold it together that long. 

Even if the image of an ESPN notification popping up on her phone is burned across her memory, giving her self-control a good run for its money. Every time she blinks, against the dark canvas behind her eyelids, Ginny sees: " _ **BREAKING:**_   _Mike Lawson, catcher for the San Diego Padres, has been involved in multi-car collision..._ "

Still, she's a little triumphant when she turns into his driveway without falling to pieces. 

It isn’t until she's killed the engine, door handle beneath her fingertips, that Ginny realizes how irrational she’s been. And not just for operating heavy machinery under emotional duress.

Mike isn’t home. There's no way. He’s just been in a fucking _car wreck_. He's probably at the hospital or still on the scene, getting checked out by EMTs. He might not even be—

Feeling the sudden urge to throw up, Ginny ruthlessly cuts the thought off. She’ll believe _that_ when a real person, and not some stupid fucking banner notification on her home screen, tells her. She doesn't know anything. Not yet.

It isn’t as if she’d actually taken the time to read the full article. All she’d seen was his name and the word “collision” and was out the door before she could question it. 

The one conscious thought she can remember having is:  _Not again._

And then:  _Not without ever telling him what he means. How I feel._ _  
_

If she's being honest with herself, that's the worst part of this. It isn't as if she'd be any less distraught if she hadn't spent the past two seasons studiously avoiding anything even approaching romantic entanglement with Mike. Nights out with the team, she kept her distance. She cut back on the late night calls and started sitting next to other people on road trips. She definitely didn't leave dates to meet him for drinks. If she didn't, as she learned the hard way, it was too easy to feel like he was something more than her teammate and captain. Which he couldn't be. Not while he was those things, too.

Except, well-intentioned as that distance had been, all Ginny could think now was how pointless it all was. She wouldn't be less upset now if she knew what it was like to kiss him. To wake up in his bed. To press close to him in public. To even just hold his hand.

It's entirely possible, Ginny can admit, that she'd be  _more_ upset right now if Mike were more than her captain and friend. As it is, though, with so much left unresolved, it's hard to imagine feeling worse than this. 

Dread claws at her heart, making her loose a dry, shuddery sob as she struggles for air. She can't bring herself to get out of the car, though she knows where Mike hides a spare key. The thought of sitting in his big house all alone, unsure of when he'll come back is too much to bear. 

She can't go out of this world having never—

“Baker?”

Ginny startles, nearly smacking her horn in surprise. Her heart is already stuck to her throat, which does nothing to stop her mouth from opening to tear into Mike for scaring her like—

_Mike_.  


For a second, everything in the entire world stops. Ginny doesn't move or blink or even breathe. All she can do is stare out her window, eyes wide and uncomprehending as she takes in the sight of Mike Lawson, whole and healthy and _right fucking there_. He's frowning down at her like he can't possibly come up with a reason for her to be parked in his driveway. Ginny doesn't care. She can’t look away from him, fumbles blindly to get her door open and, once it finally is, staggers straight into him. 

Her arms wrap tight around his middle, squeezing hard enough to draw a quiet grunt from him. She considers loosening her grip—what if he's hurt?—but abandons the thought almost immediately. Mike’s tough, but not tough enough to stay on his feet right now if his ribs are broken or even bruised. So, her fingers curl into the back of his shirt, and she stays right where she is.

Plus, the way his arms wrap around her in return makes her think he doesn't mind at all.

He smells so good. It's not a new realization, not by a long shot, but it isn't often that Ginny gets to stand with her nose pressed against Mike's collarbone, inhaling the mingled scent of his cologne and body wash and laundry detergent straight from the source.

God. The thought of never smelling him again, never holding him, she couldn't handle it.

Ginny hardly even registers she’s crying until she feels the wet fabric of his shirt rub against her cheek. 

“What happened?” he murmurs, hands smoothing up and down her back, offering comfort automatically. His mouth brushes against the hair near her ear and “Ginny.”

That's what does her in. Her name—not Baker or rookie or any other nonsense he's ever called her—coming out of his mouth, so soft and concerned, has the knot of panic and worry and fear loosening. It's a knot that Ginny carries around with her all the time—though it's certainly more snarled today than usual. It's just the cost of her inconvenient attraction to Mike Lawson. Since it's not like she wants to give  _that_ up, she figures it's a fair enough trade off. 

Today, though, is the day that knot comes untangled.

Ginny lifts her face from his shoulder, and before Mike can ask the question again, she's leaning up, cheeks still damp, to cut him off. 

She kisses him. 

He tastes like fresh mint and sugar, like all the gum he chews has left his breath permanently sweet and fresh. It overpowers the faint bite of salt drying on her lips, which is only fitting. How could she cry when she's kissing Mike Lawson? Who tastes like joy and feels like the future. 

Her future.

Eagerly, Ginny opens her mouth to him, and as usual, Mike already knows the play.

With a groan, his tongue sweeps into her mouth.  His hands immediately land on her waist, drawing her in even closer than Ginny'd thought possible. She can feel every line and muscle of his body pressed against hers and wouldn't have it any other way. Her hands skate up his sides, over his chest—which she looks forward to exploring more fully very soon—and shoulders to the back of his neck. Mike's hair is soft, softer than the beard that brushes against her mouth and chin, but even that feels good brushing against her skin. Everything about him feels good. Better than good, even. Perfect.

"I love you," she says, right against his mouth because she can't bring herself to stop kissing him.

Mike doesn't seem to have any objections. His grip on her tightens even as he backs away, taking her with him as he heads for the stairs. Ginny follows eagerly, aware that they can't just make out in his driveway all day. If he wanted to, though, she wouldn't mind.

Somehow, they make it up the steps and through his front door without disengaging for more than a few seconds at a time. Once, Ginny laughs as Mike nearly trips around the corner, but he nips at her bee-stung lips, and there's nothing funny about the way her stomach clenches in response. The longest they're apart is when Mike has her face in his hands, his eyes sweeping wildly over her as he uses his bulk to press her into the door. 

"God, I love you," he rumbles, eyes going wide with delight at finally letting the words free. Ginny can't help but grin back. He presses another kiss to her mouth. "I love you." Her cheek. "I love you." Her neck. "I love you."

From there, every touch seems to say the same thing. 

It's a long time before either Ginny or Mike are content to be more than a few millimeters apart. They wind up curled on his couch, Ginny's legs draped across his lap, his arm wrapped around her waist. Her fingers are still twined in his hair, carding through the short strands at the back of his head. He hums and leans into her touch, eyes drifting shut in contentment.

If they could stay like this forever, Ginny wouldn't complain.

"I'm glad you're okay," she breathes, gaze tracing over every familiar line of his face. Funny, they all seem just a little different, now. In a good way, though.

In the best way.

Ginny's so caught up in her study that she almost misses Mike's response. But his brow wrinkles and his mouth pulls down, which is not quite as satisfying as examining the dreamy smile it replaced.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She leans back, not far since his arm is steadfast around her middle, but far enough to convey her skepticism. "You were in an accident."

"An accident?"

Jesus, had he hit his head? And they still released him? 

Slow, and using the extra time to start making an emergency plan, Ginny says, "ESPN reported you were in a multi-car collision."

Inexplicably, Mike starts laughing. He doesn't stop until he senses Ginny's mounting confusion. Once he's got himself under control, he explains, “It was just a fender bender.”

“What?” Apparently, it's her turn to ask the stupid questions.

“Yeah," he says with a gently fond smile. One callused finger pushes a stray curl behind her ear and trails down her neck, but Ginny doesn't let herself be distracted. "Some asshole rear ended the car behind me and it rolled into my back bumper. I don’t think it was even hard enough for their airbags to go off."

“Oh." Jesus. What else can she say? Except, Mike is staring at her from beneath a furrowed brow. Because there's no way he doesn't know there's more to the story. Weakly, she tries, "I thought—"

Ginny can't even finish the thought. Not aloud anyway.

In the relative safety of her mind, Ginny can admit it. She'd thought he was dead or seriously hurt. Why else would ESPN push a Breaking News Bulletin about the accident? When she'd seen him, standing outside her car, whole and apparently uninjured, she'd gotten swept up in the bone-crushing relief of it all. Which is why she'd let her emotions get the better of her, let herself kiss him. To Mike, though, it must have been so out of the blue. 

Oh, God. This was such a mistake. What the hell has she done? 

Mortification flushing her system, Ginny loosens her grip on him, arm sliding limply away from his neck. Mike lets go of her, too, but before she can climb off his lap, can start apologizing and back pedaling, he's got a hold of her wrist and guides it back into place. His hands fall back to her legs, holding just tight enough around her ankle to keep her still.

"Don't go running on me, now," he says, brushing a kiss to her cheek. "I like you right where you are."

"Mike—"

"Ginny," he returns, more playful than she thinks the situation deserves. "If I'd known getting in an accident was all it took to get you here I would've—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lawson," she warns. 

Wisely, Mike doesn't, but his eyes do soften, concern settling into the line of his mouth. He knows, better than most people in her life, that it's not a joking matter.

"I didn't mean to— to let all this happen," Ginny says after a drawn out pause. Mike frowns, but doesn't object. "When I started driving over here, I just needed to know you were okay. It wasn't until I saw you that I realized I didn't want to run the risk of never knowing what it was like to kiss you."

He takes a moment to process this. She wishes she could say her focus isn't stuck on the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, but she's only human. 

"And now that you do?"

"I don't think I want to stop," she confesses after only a breath of hesitation.

"I definitely don't want you to."

As intended, Ginny laughs, leaning her forehead against Mike's shoulder. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and she can admit, even if it's just to herself, that his way sounds much better.

"You know how long I've wanted this?" he asks, in a tone she knows means a movie-worthy speech is on its way. "Since before I ever interrupted your date back in your rookie year. Since you first slapped my ass and told me you were here to pitch, probably. I've wanted this and you every day since then, even when I couldn't admit it to myself. While you came back from your injury and earned your spot in the rotation again, while you kicked ass and conquered MLB, I've loved you, Ginny."

Ginny's breath catches for all he's said it already ten, twenty, a hundred times today. 

Mike's not finished, though. "But I kept my distance just like you did. Didn't talk about this thing between us, even when it felt like I might explode if I didn't tell you how fucking gorgeous you are on the mound. Or how I can tell how hard you hit your workouts from the sound of your step. Or how much I want to kiss you, always, but especially when you argue with me about pitch strategy. I do it because you and your career are more important than whatever it is I feel. But if it's not just me, if you want this, too—" He sighs and his thumbs rub circles on the delicate bones of her ankles. It'd be distracting if Ginny weren't so enthralled. "I've been following your calls for two years, Gin. I'll absolutely keep doing it if that's what you want, but isn't it time we make some together?"

The sheer hope on his face, the determination and desire, makes Ginny push down all the doubts and questions she has. (Should they do this? Can they even? Mike's still a Padre for at least one more season. There're so many ways this could blow up in their faces. In the press, the clubhouse, on the field.) Someone will have to answer them, and sooner rather than later. 

For now, though, she's going to ignore them. Because now, she's wrapped up in Mike Lawson's arms, and it's hard to think about the negatives when she's exactly where she's always wanted, but never really expected, to end up.

"Together's good."

It's her and Mike. How could it be anything less than that?

Mike, clearly, is thinking along the same lines. With a dangerous grin, he pulls her more fully into his lap, hands skimming over her hips and questing into her shirt. Ginny shivers, but has never felt warmer or more content in her life. 

"I'll show you better than good, Gin," he promises. 

"You talk a big game, Lawson," she laughs back, leaning down to him and thrilling in the way his face tips to hers, a flower to the sun. Just before she seals her lips against his once again, she couldn't resist getting in one last shot. "You sure you can measure up?"

Mike's always been a man of action; he lets his speak for him, now, too. So, instead of coming up with a retort, he settles for bowling Ginny over and proving just how well he measures up. 

For her part, Ginny couldn't be happier to be proved wrong. 

 


End file.
